The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 40: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

414 nounce another day, the sea was bare as a desert. The John Foster had vanished. Long Rube Bower had the watch. The moment he satisfied himself that he had not lost his eyesight, that the Foster was actu- ally gone, he dived below and aroused Steel- fist Marshall. The skipper was on deck in his pajamas, sweeping the sea with his binoculars before Forrester’s bulk loomed in the companion- way. Nothing was in sight. Steelfist sprang to the mizzen-royal-yard, swept the horizon vainly, then slid down the back- stay with a sounding curse. “Get that Finn!” he snarled, his face suffused with evil blood. At his tone the business of washing decks was suspended promptly. Ole was below, and Blake dropped his broom and slid down to forestall Long Rube, heartsick at thought of the simple Finn. He gripped Ole and had the man awake instantly. “Wake up—they’re coming for you! Do you know anything more about the Foster’s port? Tell me sharp, now!” “Ay toldt ju ever’t’ing Ay knaw,” as- serted Ole, panic in his pale eyes. “Ts there anything in the suit-case?”’ per- sisted Blake, hearing the steps of Bower at the hatch. ‘““Mabbe—mabbe—Ay dond’t ‘t’ink so,” whimpered the Finn. Blake dived forward into the recess of the ship’s eyes, as Bower came down and hurled himself on Ole. When the Finn had been dragged bodily upward, Blake cau- tiously lifted the cabin-locker hatch and dropped to the cables below. “Tf I don’t find something to save that fellow, Steelfist will murder him!” he thought, grim-lipped. Working feverishly, yet with a modicum of noise, he tore aside tier after tier of the heavy chain until he came to a crushed, shapeless brown mass which had once been a suit-case. The lock had survived, but the case itself had been burst apart in every seam. A shriek of agony pealed along the deck above, echoing under the straining forgsail and carrying with startling clarity to Blake. Desperately he tossed up the mass of things to the fo’c’s’le above, got them into his bunk, and searched for he knew not what. Then he felt a sudden thrill—amid the soft garments, whose touch brought a tinge of red to his cheeks, he found a note-book, THE ARGOSY. Another scream rang out. Blake ran to the hatch and turned over the pages of the note- book. They seemed blank; then, written in pencil at the back of the cover, he found what he wanted. “Southwest by south, 650 miles.” The scrawl meant nothing clear to him, yet he felt that here lay the clue to the whole thing. At the same time, it was nothing that he could use to save Ole. The few words told him nothing. - Were the fact known that he had hidden the suit-case, his own fate would be swift and bitter. He caught up his hidden re- volver and pocketed it. : Another and prolonged scream from the after deck sent him to his bunk again. Hurriedly heaping the scattered garments to one end, he threw his other things over them in effectual concealment. jumped to the ladder. “T’ll have to face him down,” he mut- tered, ‘‘anger-muscles” playing in his cheeks as his jaw clenched! ‘The low-lived mur- derers! I’m getting tired of knuckling under to a set of rough-necks! By the Lord, Ill face Marshall down, and if there’s any scrapping done, I’ll shoot him and take command of the cursed ship myself!” All of which held more raving than sense. But, as Blake swung up to the deck and glanced aft, a slow curse of fervid loathing broke from him at sight of the scene being enacted on the poop. Then he started aft, hand on his re- volver. CHAPTER IX. TAKING BIG CHANCES. All hands stood watching the poop, with frightened, angry faces; Fancy Harry Lovell was cursing in a low voice. Even the hardened mates were not grinning as they usually did, at the skipper’s pleas- antries. In the weather mizzen rigging hung Ole Kafban, spread-eagled. His wrists were lashed, one to the forward, one to the after shrouds; his ankles, stretched wide apart, were lashed fast to the hauling-part of the weather main brace, where it led inboard. He was stripped to the waist. Around his hanging, agonized figure stepped Steelfist Marshall, his terrible right arm poised, coolly picking the spots where EOPMIGLOOOKS Then he > (©)